


Orange Sweet

by extrasystem



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Cock Warming, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Omega Verse, Smut, and lavender, if you don't like the smell of oranges im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24322297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extrasystem/pseuds/extrasystem
Summary: Preheat is a tedious, exhausting thing. Lucky for you, your favourite alpha is there to help you.
Relationships: Sam Wilson (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	Orange Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> title is from my favourite essential oil. also is it just me or is there a serious drought for more alpha!sam.

He could smell it in the air before the sun peaked over littered streets and highway exits.

Tangy, syrupy wafts of anticipating spring and ripe fruit. Vibrant colours in patterned quilts and smeared pastels. Lingering fragments of hesitant touches imprinted on his skin, reminders of the home you share. Safety, in the dip of your neck and familiarity, with your honeyed tongue.

Sharper, more intense. Enough to make his chest rise with strain in an effort to swallow the scent of your oncoming heat; dollops of spit plant themselves on the pink of his mouth and he stalls his laboured breaths to count yours. Steady. Ignorant and quiet to the removal of his body from yours, tiptoeing around the room to slip on nylon fabric and tap at his phone.

Sam has time. For the rest of the week, really.

He rinses his mouth of mint froth and fills his water bottle, shoving his nose into his shirt to snare the last of a candied fruit that too easily disappears on the other side of the door. He greets his predecessor a couple of blocks away, pushing and challenging each other. Bucky joins them half an hour later.

Mornings are fixed routines laced with fresh oranges.

Mornings are good.

**///**

He can taste it as he unlocks the door with quick swipes.

Tart sweets coat his tongue in fervent strokes and a pool of thick saliva stirs his lower belly. Sam tilts his head up, inhaling heady clouds of your arousal; the saccharine fragrance prompts him to tug the damp shirt from his chest and bite at the shoes that refuse to peel away.

"Baby?" He calls, as sweet as the citrus syrup clinging to his teeth. Sam’s feet pad in the direction of your soft whimpers and a glaringly intense field of orange trees. You — safety, home and familiarity. Sweet, like the first time he caught your eyes. "Where are you?"

A breathy moan and, "Sam?"

He races up the stairs, nearly tripping over his own feet, panting, "I’m here, baby."

Inside the bedroom, Sam peaks past the cracked door, careful to not disturb you in a rush of adrenaline. Empty. Hazy with blurred refractions of sunlight and crisp puffs of winter’s end. A stark contrast to the shut closet to his left and yellowed rays that escape underneath cherry wood.

Palming his face to wipe away beads of sweat, he leans his forehead to the cool surface. Your scent invades the back of his eyelids and throat, eliciting a muffled groan from his chest. Wrinkled skin forces itself between Sam’s brows as he fights the carnal desire to crash into your arms and give you what you need. What he needs.

But, no.

You want your space. Your nest. And he can smell it from here — imagine the blankets you’ve coddled yourself in alongside the articles of his clothing and other belongings of his that you tuck under your pillow when he’s gone. A cautiously selected array of items that swirl aromas of sour fruit and gentle drifts of lavender. Of you and him.

Sam slides onto his knees, knocking with hushed raps. His cock twitches in response to your needy whine, pressing your head on the other side of the door. "Can I come in, honey?" He hears shuffling and his ears perk at the sound of your limbs untangling from the sheets. "I brought you my shirt, if you want it."

Still damp and darkened grey, he clutches it in his palm as though he were offering it to a higher being. Sam might as well be, with your elated chirp while you whisper, "Pass it under? I wanna fix my nest before you see it."

"'Course, baby girl."

He licks his lips at the mere sight of your fingers pulling his shirt under the crack, instinctively thrusting upwards to find relief. You must know, if your hurried scuffle on the carpet and onto a hill of blankets indicate otherwise. It’s almost embarrassing, the growl that escapes his throat when you move away.

Almost.

"Okay," You start, and Sam’s already turning the knob, "you can come in now."

And he can breathe when he sees you; like sugar on the tip of his tongue with a tangy flavour that makes his mouth salivate. Your slick invades his senses, nose flaring with dark irises that calm your aches in a rush.

Snuggled in clothes he had tossed in the hamper and an old tactical suit, you’re bare and visibly heated. A roll of sweat falls from the side of your face, onto the ring of mindfully placed items that form a messy circle. The shirt he had given you is tucked between your thighs, wet with more than his perspiration.

"C’mere," You cry, hands urging him onto your makeshift mattress.

He knees onto the blankets and slowly removes his clothes from your hands and around your torso. Sam purrs lowly, tracing your breasts with his soft hands and you react immediately. Nosing at his neck and opening up for him so sweetly, he takes a moment to press kisses over your balmy skin.

Mouthing over your gland, he fits himself behind you and squeezes your hip. "Sweet girl. You doin’ okay?"

You shake your head. "Want your knot. Want you."

A clammy hand covers his to lead it to where you need him most. Hot and needy under his calm touch, your center is dripping onto the fabric beneath you two and you buck into his hand. Sam bites your shoulder as a gentle warning and the pulse of his length is enough to draw blood from your lip.

"Naughty girl," He dotes, thumbing at your clit. "Not yet, you know that."

"No, please—" You wriggle in his grasp. "—now. I want your knot now."

He grins, all tooth gap and sparkling eyes at the desperation leaking from your voice for his cock. Sam licks a stripe up your jaw and laughs.

"S’not even officially your heat yet. Can’t."

You nuzzle your head back, sniffing at sharp waves of lavender that radiate off the warm body behind you. Sam’s right — your preheat is easily confused for something more severe, but he’s there to guide you back and help root your feet to the ground when you need him to. A shaky breath parts your bitten lips and he catches a stray tear trailing your cheek.

"It hurts."

"I know, pet," He utters, pressing his mouth to yours and tenderly removing the cloth against your core. Sam’s jaw tenses at the fragrant aroma and your mewl, tugging his shorts down. You reach over blindly, gripping him and savouring the hiss when you thumb at his leaky tip.

Sam spreads your knees with his and groans at the sight of your slick. He bats your hand away, intertwining them at your hip as he gnaws on his lip. Pushing inside, your breath catches and he sinks in far enough to force the beat of your heart into your ears.

You cry softly, rocking your hips back. He scents your neck and, "It’s okay, honey. Feels good, hm?"

A nod and a slow blink later, you’re drowsy on the whiff of arousal and nature fields. His fingers thread through your hair until your chest calms into a steady rhythm. Sam brushes his mouth over your relaxed face, shrugging a blanket over your shoulders. The heavy drag of his eyelids lulls him to a state of unconsciousness alongside your drifting body.

Mornings are good.

Afternoons are better.

**Author's Note:**

> listen ik 'pet' is kinda ooc but let this one slide ok


End file.
